Sex, Secrecy
by GeckoMoriaShadowLord
Summary: ZoSan.AU. He's a political spy of a different kind. The kind of uses his body to discover secrets, who uses his sex to draw out information. All the while, he moves insubstantially, beholden to nowhere and to no one, on the verge of forgetting who he is.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Sex, Secrecy

**Pairing: **Zoro x Sanji, Sanji x Zoro, etc.

**Rating: M** for vulgarities, sexual content, adult theme, questionable tastes

**Summary: **AU. He's a political spy of a different kind. The kind of uses his body to discover secrets, who uses his sex to draw out information. All the while, he moves insubstantially, beholden to nowhere and to no one, on the verge of forgetting who he is. But his latest assignment will change his life forever.

_**Prologue **_

~0~

His eyes followed the green-haired man as he put down his glass of liquor and made his way across the room, weaving his careful way between the dozens of people partying and socializing, and quietly exiting out onto one of the balconies that surrounded the large dance hall.

He could feel the slow, heady pump of his blood increase subtly as he realized that it was time to move.

He too, put down the small glass of burgundy wine he had been previously drinking on a nearby buffet table and straightened his tie. Turning slightly, he gazed quietly into the dark glass wall beside him to see the ghost of his reflection, smiling calmly back at him, and smoothed out his jacket front.

Satisfied with the result, he turned in the direction the green-haired man had gone-but was momentarily stopped by a sudden urgent tug on his jacket sleeve.

"Sanji," it was a black haired, dark-skinned man with a dark maroon trenchcoat emblazoned with a white number five on the corner and breast pocket. "Where are you going?"

Sanji relaxed, recognizing him, and pulled the man into a corner of the room, pitching his voice low, even though it would have been impossibly hard to overhear a conversation over the general hub-bub in the room, "We're not supposed to be seen like this, you know, it won't be hard to make a connection if we're found out. How much are you carrying under that trench?" he frowned at the subtle bulges that could be slightly seen through the thick fabric.

"The usual. My special Bomb Revolver, couple of grenades, and at least ten pounds of nitroglycerine. But forget that, where were you going?" Mr. 5 insisted, refusing to let go of his suit.

"I'm going to do my job, of course. The faster I begin, the better," Sanji answered, his eyes wandering around the room, expertly watching to see if they were being observed.

"But you usually take a year to get ready! If you rush it, then it's just as bad if you take too long! Wait for a little more," the urgency in Mr.5's voice was imminent.

Sanji gave a disdainful shrug, "Relax. I've been watching this guy for months, but it seems like I've already known him for years. If I wait too long then he'll lose interest…or get suspicious. He's not the kind to foolishly chase after something or sit still with arms crossed.", he paused, thoughtfully, "He's quite a different person than everyone else I've done, is our dear man Roronoa Zoro. He'll be an interesting challenge." The smile he gave was wolfish. "Now, if you let me go…I have a client to attend to."

And brushing off the hand on his jacket, Sanji made his way to where the green-haired man had exited, pausing only behind a large ornamental palm tree, and with a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, he slid a hand down his crotch, rubbing, pinching softly, grinding the bulge against his hand.

When he was ready, he stepped out from behind the palm tree, opened the one-way glass and metal French doors and stepped outside. Pausing for a second, to slide a small metal tube which he produced from under his suit jacket, between the door handles. He didn't want anyone to come in while he was working.

~0~

**_A/N: _**_There's something that's called reviewing. And I invite you to attempt it. _


	2. Malevolent Lover

_**Chapter Two  
**_Malevolent Lover

You'll never make me stay, so take your weight off of me  
I know your every move, so won't you just let me be  
I've been here times before, but I was to blind to see  
That you seduce every man, this time you won't seduce me  
She's saying that's ok, hey baby do what you please  
I have the stuff the you want, I am the thing that you need  
She looked me deep in the eyes, she's touchin' me so to start  
She says there's no turnin' back, she trapped me in her heart  
She likes the boys in the band, she knows when they come to town  
Every musician's fan after thecurtain comes down  
She waits at backstage doors for those who have prestige  
Who promise fortune and fame, a life that's so carefree  
She's says that's ok, hey baby do what you want  
I'll be your night lovin' thing, I'll be the freak you can taunt  
And I don't care what you say, I want to go too far  
I'll be your everything if you make me a star  
_-"Dirty Diana", Michael Jackson_

~0~

If the green-haired man-_Zoro_, Sanji reminded himself, _get in the habit of calling him Zoro_-heard him step outside, he gave no sign, only continued to gaze up at the stars, his back to him. Though Sanji thought he detected a sort of delicate tenseness in the shoulderblades which seemed unnatural.

He wasted no time, a moment of indecision could ruin everything or kill him. It was something he had learned early in this trade. Sanji walked softly up to the man at the balcony, not bothering to hide his footsteps, leaned his back against the railing right next to the man-Zoro; and trained his eyes on the other man's face.

Zoro gave no sign to show that he was aware that he was no longer alone, though Sanji, with a species of amusement, noticed the knuckles on the banister turn white.

"Beautiful night," he commented, though he made no attempt to look out into the night.

"Y-" Zoro coughed, clearing his throat, "Yeah, yeah it is." He didn't look at Sanji.

It was funny, considering how he observed this man for months already, that these were the first words he was finally exchanging with his newest victim. It was funny how much he knew about this man already and they hadn't even spoken. But then again, Zoro probably knew as much about himself then he knew about him. The only difference was that of all the things Zoro might have found out about Sanji- they were all lies.

Sanji began to unbutton his shirt slowly, thinking about how easy it was becoming to strip himself, the sounds of the metal buttons slipping out of their loops were inaudible, though the movements quickly brought the green-haired man's attention.

"W-What the hell are you _doing_?" Zoro's voice was wary, embarrassed, nervous, guilty, _knowing_. Every nuance of his voice assured Sanji that he had been right in choosing the time in starting. The eyes of the other man were wide, but they made no effort to tear away from the uncovered skin. Sanji dropped his shirt at his feet and snaked his arms out, his hands finding the collar of Zoro's shirt, and pulling him in close.

"You've been watching my ass this entire evening," he whispered, into Zoro's mouth, pausing to lick the lower lip seductively, "Fuck, you've been watching me for _months_. What can that mean, I wonder?"

"That-", Zoro was blushing, Sanji could only barely tell, as his tan skin and the dim lighting rendered details fuzzy. He was momentarily surprised, it had been a while since he had had that kind of reaction. Innocence was something he rarely associated with seduction. The tenseness of the other man's body had not left, his hands were stiffly at his sides, looking like they were struggling not to wrap around his waist.

"If you wanted me, you just had to ask…", Sanji murmured, he pressed himself roughly, suddenly against the body in front of him. He felt the sharp intake of breath as his self-manipulated erection pressed greedily against the other man's. "As you can see…I really don't have a problem if you want to be inside of me…", he let his voice trail away in unspoken promise.

"You want to fuck?.", he heard Zoro ask. The invitation was quiet, almost polite to the point of ridiculousness. As if it was him, and not Sanji who was begging, and again, Sanji found himself momentarily surprised. And he wasted no time sliding down the hard body, making sure that the hard head of his arousal ground into Zoro with every inch as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of him.

He looked up, from his low vantage point, knowing full-well how sexually vulnerable he looked, letting Zoro enjoy the sight of him on his knees before him and the expectant knowledge of what was coming. Sanji let his eyelids close halfway, and opened his mouth slightly.

"Not yet…"

Zoro was breathing hard, and Sanji felt his thighs trembling minutely, underneath his hands which were hooked in his belt, he hadn't made any motion to leave or to speak again.

"Aren't you going to unzip? I'm not going to suck you properly through these.", Sanji said softly, his hands shook the cloth of Zoro's dress pants lightly, "Unless you _want_ me to suck you through them?" He leaned forward slightly, just enough so that his tongue, when out, barely grazed the tip of the bulge in Zoro's crotch. Sanji could feel every fiber of the cotton roll dryly over the bumps and ridges of his tongue; all his senses were heightened, tuned to perfection, as was always the case when he worked, when he hunted. He closed his lips over the growing bulge and squeezed lightly.

And then, rough hands were lifting him up and thrusting him against the iron railing hard enough to hurt. Sanji felt the adrenaline surge through him, and he fought the overwhelming urge to resist. "Don't fucking _move_.", he heard Zoro growl into his ear, and Sanji willed himself to subside, to put aside his natural instinct to turn around and kick the bastard in the face for daring to mishandle him.

Meanwhile, the same hands flew over his body, his jeans were unbuckled from behind, unzipped, and pushed halfway down; warm hands were thrust inside, they quickly slid around his hips and along his inner thighs, grasping his hard cock and lifting, feeling beneath, searching.

Fingers rapidly slid from his base of his balls to the small entrance of his anus and Sanji gripped the railing, knowing what was coming, he arched his back prettily and bent over slightly, ignoring the stretching pain and the burning humiliation, and not forgetting to let out an aroused moan as fingers entered briefly, felt around and withdrew. He was, after all, very professional in everything he did, which was why he had been selected of all the potential seducers for this job.

Hands were working his pants down, and he helped them, kicking off his shoes and waiting quietly, completely nude, listening to the rustling sounds as his clothes and shoes were thoroughly searched. He wasn't worried from that quarter; he wasn't stupid enough to carry weapons on such a crucial mission, like Mr.5. Anyway, all he needed was his legs to protect himself if things got a little dangerous.

The rustling stopped, Zoro was apparently satisfied with his search and it wasn't long before Sanji felt two hands on his bare hips, massaging, tracing smooth circles on around his waist, in an almost apologetic fashion. There was a few seconds of silence before Sanji turned around, he kept his voice low and amused, betraying nothing, nothing of how he had felt throughout the little examination, "I'm not an_ assassin_."

The first lie. The most important one.

"You never know.", the green-haired man said, and he sounded a little ashamed of himself, "But I have to make sure…I get these all the time, kind of makes it hard to trust anyone. Last time, I got a guy who had a knife up his ass...I was kind of scared that you'd be one because…", he paused, his hands continued to grip Sanji's hips, "…because I really didn't want_ you_ to be one. And the way you've been just hanging around for the past few months…made me wonder."

Sanji shrugged, "The reason I was 'hanging around' was so I could get a chance to be with you.", and he pressed himself forward again, insistently, his nudity enticing, and he purred, "You know why? So I could get your hard cock inside of me…_Zoro._ Don't make me beg to suck you." He dropped to his knees again, this time wrapping his hand around the shaft of his cock invitingly, "I think I want to come when I swallow you."

He watched Zoro dry-swallow, obviously aroused by the dirty talk, and slowly unbuckle his jeans. It was all the invitation he needed, Sanji pulled the cloth roughly down, along with his boxers, until his erection was exposed and stuck out ridiculously.

Then shifting himself so that he was on all fours, knowing it was the dirtiest position he could manage, Sanji raised his head and kissed the tip, pausing to make out with it like it was a mouth, hearing Zoro cry out when he did this, and running out his tongue and lathering the head with saliva, he opened his mouth wide and enveloped the first inches of Zoro's arousal, not sucking yet, but blowing hot air into his mouth and using his cheeks to force the heated air around the erection in his mouth.

Sanji understood he didn't look the handsomest while he did this, what with his cheeks puckering out like he was blowing a balloon, but he had been assured the sensations were incredible.

And he was proved right once again, as he heard Zoro cry out his name, and felt the man's knees sag slightly as he grabbed onto the railing for support. Sanji inventoried the use of his name, knowing that it meant that he had been researched and his background checked. Again, it was to be expected, and he wasn't worried. His background was completely clean, as seeing it was completely fake. It would take much more time, money, and effort to pull apart that particular façade.

Even while this analysis was running through his head, turning the cogs and gears of his mind, Sanji was lathering lick after long slurping lick on the underside, the front, and the sides of Zoro's thick, erect cock. Sanji listened, enjoying the harsh, strangled moans of the man above in a distant, calculated way which would have brought his bosses' praise.

Stretching his neck a little further, Sanji licked, kissed, and nibbled down the underside of Zoro's penis, not stopping at the base, but continuing, licking the heavy sac and slurping at it obscenely, feeling the shaft bump across his nose as he forced his face into Zoro's groin.

Shifting his weight a little, Sanji freed one of his hands and grasped his own hard cock, thrusting his lower hips into his hand, moaning at the friction, letting the vibrations travel so that Zoro let out a long moan and squirted a little semen out of his weeping tip. Sanji saw the white fluid dribble down the hot length, and he licked up after it, chasing the white backtrail eagerly, leaving behind a wet lick.

Returning his attention to the sac, Sanji opened his mouth and eagerly accepted one of the balls, he fondled with his tongue the heavy ball, and closing his mouth tight, he sucked the sac hard, earning breathy groans from Zoro. After sucking the other ball just as hard, Sanji licked slowly over the slight indentation between the sacs, slipping his sore tongue over the dent expertly. Zoro moaned at the sensation.

Sanji mouthed the side of Zoro's erection, his lips arching over the flesh daintily, and suddenly, abandoning the excessive foreplay, Sanji took the hot and aching cock fully into his mouth, sucking and slurping, moving his tongue frantically over the length in his mouth. The saliva quickly accumulated and Sanji swallowed, the reflexive motion drawing the coming erection further down into his throat, and Zoro cried out his name, and began to thrust his hips forward in time to the sucking.

Sanji continued to suck, letting Zoro thrust into him, relaxing his throat and stifling the gag reflex, each time the hard cock humped into his mouth. He increased the pace of his hand, stroking himself, and sucked harder, on what he was sure was the borderline between pain and pleasure.

Zoro was shuddering above him, and with an erratic spasm of his hips and another low cry, he came, pulsing and hot into Sanji's throat, the liquid momentarily back flowed into his mouth, and Sanji played the come over his tongue before he swallowed it hungrily, tasting in the semi-salty fluid, the bittersweet flavor of victory.

Zoro's cock lay warm and still semi-hard in his mouth, and Zoro shuddered as Sanji continued to suck him, knowing that the sensations of over-sensitivity were almost painful. And soon, he knew that the fire of arousal in Zoro's crotch and upper belly had rekindled with the way he could almost feel the blood rushing to the penis in his mouth once again.

Sanji reached behind him and traced his entrance with a finger, with an inward grimace, he slowly slid a finger he had moistened with his own come, into himself and pulled it in and out methodically. Two fingers, then three. The pain waxed and waned. Then receded again, as he finished pushing his muscles apart.

Judging from the stiffness of the cock in his mouth, Sanji decided it was time. He pulled himself off the arousal, and turned around, ignoring the protestations. Sanji's months-long research had assured him that Zoro liked his sex rough and direct, and so he wasted no time in the invitation. "Fuck me.", he ordered, without turning around, and dropped to his forearms, spreading his hips and legs out so that his ass and slick hole were presented in a blatant display. The balcony was stone, and Sanji grimaced as his knees begun to ache.

He immediately felt his hips taken in warm, oddly gentle hands, and shifted even wider, and a throbbing heat at the small, puckered entrance of his anus as he was mounted from behind. This was followed by the burning ring of heat he was already familiar with and that came as he was entered. Sanji bit his forearm to stifle the groan of pain and concentrated on accepting every inch of the cock that was fucking him.

Zoro's pants were rough and erratic and he thrust in and out of him greedily. Sanji arched his back and moaned, just like he was supposed to, and he cried out Zoro's name again and again, lacing his cries with the perfect amount of honey and desire. Sanji thrust himself back against Zoro's back, begging for more. Taking himself into his hand again, Sanji continued to pump himself, feeling that unique euphoria overwhelm him, that euphoria which came from the intoxicating mixture of intermixing sex and danger, of mingling sex and secrecy.

All pain had dissolved by now, or it had so completely dissolved in the pleasure that he was unaware of it anymore, and Sanji threw himself into the intercourse with wild abandon, pulling himself forward while Zoro pulled out, and slamming himself back onto the erection with a precision which was almost mechanical. With each fuck, Sanji pushed himself back until he felt the round heat of Zoro's sac slap his bare ass, and he briefly wondered, not without amusement, if his saliva was still decorating the other man's balls.

His prostate was found quickly, and Sanji rose his vocals appropriately, crying and moaning for more, demanding for faster, harder fucks. Zoro compiled, and Sanji lost it, semen burst from his erection and filled his cupped hand, splashed the stone floor leaving behind pale white tracks of need.

Sanji thought that Zoro would come too, but the cock that continued to pull in and out of his ass was just as hard and hot as when he had started, if a little more wet and dripping traces of come. And for the first time, Sanji felt himself subjected to the post-orgasmic sensitivity which he loved to force on his chosen lovers. It was usually him who came last or right before, who lasted out the other, who managed to keep his inner sexual frigidity even while his lover was losing it right beneath or on top of him, who managed to collect his post-climax senses so quickly and calmly, it was like he never had an orgasm at all.

Surprise and anger at the sudden change clouded his senses for a fraction of time, then it faded as his body shuddered and shuddered and his hips contracted in erratic spasms, twitching his spent cock with each pulse. Sanji could distantly hear Zoro drawing in low, rapid pants as he filled him up again and again; now, without Sanji's cooperation, he was going slower, but no less deep.

Sanji's thighs trembled from the exertion of not just collapsing into a puddle of orgasmic delight; because each time Zoro pressed his erection fully inside, he was reduced to crying out unoriented syllables of words and half-words, mewling and whimpering his surrender. And again, he felt a strange sentiment of offense at having somehow lost his iron-control of the situation as well as an even-stranger sense of challenge and excitement engulf him.

Gathering all his wits, Sanji suddenly moved himself backward, helping Zoro sheath himself completely up to his sac once again, and squeezed his muscles tightly as he pulled out. Sanji heard his name cried out, once, drawn out longingly, the 'a' sound raised in thick arousal and the ending 'i' trailed off in a sort of out-of-place wistfulness, and then the tell-tale pulse which ended in the heated liquid which seemed to bathe his innermost intestines and dribbled down the curves of his ass.

Sanji finally let himself collapse, taking Zoro down with him, who still hadn't pulled out, his mind waiting, expectant. He didn't relax until he felt the strong arms wrap him uncomfortably from behind and cradle him to an unfamiliar chest. Then he snuggled back, smiling genuinely; the sex had been different, true. And for a second there, he _might_ have thought he was the one who was being manipulated, but in the end it was him who had been the victor.

~0~

_{Six months ago}_

He had been at home, or what he called the temporary residence he now resided in for his latest project. He had had his feet up on the love seat, an unfiltered cigarette hanging lazily at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were gazing sightlessly out into the metropolis of Kyoto, Japan as he waited.

The millions of movies he always liked to watch on his spare time always portrayed the life of a seductress to be action-packed and full of adventure, danger, and love. Sanji supposed that was true for the first two to some extent, but when he wasn't doing what he liked to refer to as 'working', life was almost as boring as any regular joe's. More boring even. Few friends, no family, no regular job. No activity allowed lest he should be discovered. The hours dragged by when he wasn't needed.

He supposed he could cook; it was something that he secretly loved and that calmed him down as well as something that could productively pass the time. But the constant moves from country to country, from continent to continent, had frayed him. Just as he adjusted to a new gleaming, Formica kitchen, he was rudely torn from it and transferred to another house, another city. He would only collect a few pots and plates before he left them sitting in the cabinets as he swept the door to the apartment shut, effectively closing another era in his life.

Sanji had given up cooking; cooking seriously. It hurt too much to cook when his heart wasn't it. Each shining counter was a lover torn from his side. His cooking and his love for cooking was his base; one of the two golden rules he lived his life by, it was something he knew he could always rely on, something he knew would always be there for him. And to wake up one day and realize that his love had evaporated would kill him. And so Sanji refused to cook; fearing the possibility of feeling a sense of nothingness when he turned the dials on the stove on and the fire flared out.

So that particular afternoon had been like the countless ones before it. Smoke filled the apartment, hanging in wisps around the bland, generic furniture. He hadn't been expecting anything, no one had contacted him for weeks and he was beginning to wonder if he had been forgotten. Perhaps there was no need for a seduction. Different people and different cases varied in the ways they were dealt with. There were times the organization succeeded in their missions without so much as calling him; and then there were times where his phone was ringing as soon as he opened the door to his new place.

What he did was simple. He was what was femininely called a seductress. Women and men. The reason why was just as simple. Because in the deepest throes of intimacy, people talked. Because during the sweatiest, dirtiest parts of sex, people whispered secrets. Because after the near-divinity of orgasm and release, they opened their mouths and let things slip. Maybe because they thought that the bed had a magical perimeter, that what was done as well as what was said in a used bed would never pass from between the damp bedsheets.

Usually it was nothing. But important people belied important secrets. And when these certain people slipped, he was there to catch it.

Sometimes it was nothing. Sometimes it was everything.

But it was always sex. He had fucked and been fucked so many times he had lost count. He had fucked in so many different ways and positions he could have put the Kama Sutra to shame. There was nothing he didn't know about the human body and its pleasure centers. What hurt and what didn't. What brought pleasure and what brought pain. And what brought both.

He had become the best at what he did. He was paid handsomely, was given a small white card which he could flash in the right places to be able to obtain the finest of whatever was available, whether it be the presidential suite at a Hilton hotel or the best seats in the baseball stadium; he was handed the keys to several luxury sports cars and to several skyline apartments; he was given a bank card which had a fixed amount of $1 million no matter how much he withdrew, he was given everything and anything he had ever wanted and would never need. And if he ever wanted something, anything, he only need ask.

He was also given a set of papers every time he switched residences. Birth certificate, driver's license, passport, and pages and pages of his new persona. Including fingerprints and personality. It took him a week, sometimes less, to shapeshift, to molt his old self and take up this new one.

These extremes to eradicate his past movements were never taken lightly. Because sometimes, he left behind a body in the bed. He hadn't always been a seducer; Sanji had begun his meteoric rise to infamy in the ample field of assassination. It was an experience which stood him in good stead.

Right now he was Sanji Jambe. The use of his real first name had been a small concession granted to him by the surly man who handled his profiles. Usually he didn't care to be called any name or other, but just this once, on a foolish, spur-of-the-moment whim, he had asked for his real name to be kept.

There had been some protest, but Sanji had stood firm. After all, it didn't really matter if anyone knew his real name since he was a man without a background, without a history or a home. Research on his name would turn up nothing and they knew it. So they had reluctantly printed the name _Sanji Jambe_ at the top of his newest profile.

Anyway, it went with his manufactured history. A French father, a Japanese mother. They each imparted their nationality into his name. It's a cute story. He liked to tell it over cocktail sausages.

He grew up in France, spoke a little Japanese. He is currently in Japan attending some conferences about the future of his company _Mouton_ which produces silverware worldwide; and at the same time he appears on a cooking show each day for twenty minutes and gives helpful tips to aspiring chefs. He lets his face be known, but does not overdue it. Waiting is better.

Then, the call. He knows who it is and what he wants as soon as is ring. It is a private direct line.

"Moshi-moshi?", Sanji picks up, the Japanese response rolling off his tongue automatically.

"Sanji, it's me~. Were you beginning to think we had forgotten you, honeybunch?", the annoying, grating laughter honks away in his ear. Sanji grimaces and pulls the cell away from his head, but he doesn't lose his temper as he might have done if it were somewhere else. Mr. 2, or Bonclay, as he is known to his closer associates, is the closest thing to a true friend he has in the organization collectively known as Baroque Works.

"Bonclay. How've you been?", Sanji smiles, as he mentally pictures the man he is talking too. Obscenely tall and with a strange square haircut, Bonclay stands out.

"Mwahahaha~ I've been Octa-Puuurfect Saaa~nji-dear! The Organization has been trying to get this man to crack and spill something about his bosses, buuuu~t he's a tough nut to craaaa~ck! We neeeed your heeee~lp!"

Sanji tips his feet back on the coffee table in front of him, "Man? What is he, gay?" He doesn't mind, but he has only worked on five or six men in his long career as opposed to countless women, "This sounds more like your field Bon-boy."

"Don't joooo~ke around!~", is the reply, "You're the only one who can do this Saaaanji~"

"Yeah, okay, whatever.", and Sanji realizes that he's snapped out of his funk, colors have brightened and lines have sharpened, it is time for him to move, "What? Who? Where?" His fingers are itching for pen and paper to begin scribbling down notes, and he seizes a nearby 'To do' list, grinning at the irony.

Sanji grins again as he catches himself tapping his foot in a quirky rhythm as Bon begins to speak. Pages quickly fill with his messy handwriting, barely legible. It doesn't matter, he'll have to burn them later. An hour later, he gently hangs up on Bonclay after exchanging a bantering goodbye.

Sanji leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a sluggish smile lighting up his features, and he thinks _Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it's hell. Is it dangerous? Hell yes. Is it illegal? In all four hundred or so countries that I'm aware of. Is it morally and ethically wrong? Without a doubt. Do I love it?_

_Fuck yeah. _

~0~

The second call comes the next day. It's Bon again, sounding unusually subdued. Sanji doesn't ask, knowing that Bon always sounds sad when he relays the 'Start' message. They are friends, after all, and every time he works Sanji knows he is risking his life.

The conversation is oddly formal and ritualistic. Information that has been given is given again and questions asked. Sanji answers smoothly, knowing that the conversation is being recorded to be listened to later by the boss. It is his formal acceptance and agreement to the terms. Though he is always given exactly three weeks to merely observe; and then either call it off or signal his willingness to continue, though he has never taken the three-week escape hatch.

"Hello. It's me. It's what we talked about before."

"What can I do?"

"Are you ready?"

"Always am."

"Address: 31978 Grand Line. Name: Roronoa Zoro. You have three weeks."

"Okay…got it.", he writes it down. Just in case.

"Good luck…and take care of yourself Sanji. This is probably the most important mission of your life…. and the most dangerous.", Bon is serious, his normally loud and obnoxious voice is strangely handsome when subdued.

"Yeah.", Sanji can feel Bon wanting to add something more, to warn him again to watch his ass, it's already cracked, kid. He doesn't though.

"_Sayonara _Sanji." It seems like he wasn't the only one who picked up some bits and fragments of Japanese.

The click as Bon hangs up is very loud in Sanji's ear and he lights up a cigarette, just like he always does when he starts something new. Then he goes into his kitchen and cooks for what seems like the first time in years. He has a feeling that, this time, he is going to be here for a very long time.

~0~

Sanji spent the next few months observing Roronoa Zoro. And cleverly used his fake prestige to manage to get invited to all the cocktails, receptions, and other social gatherings that Zoro attends thanks to the other man's position as a juvenile military tactician of the Marines. Though Sanji made sure to manipulate the situation so they never actually could meet.

He could feel the other man's interest increasing, and he redoubled his efforts to avoid contact, heading to the bathroom when he saw Zoro moving near him, or simply leaving when the green-haired man tried too many times to grab his attention. He knew that the other did not broadcast his orientation and relatively few knew; and so Sanji made sure to discreetly spread the news that he, himself, was bisexual; knowing that it would reach Zoro's ears eventually.

But he made sure he was always there; a constant temptation. It was only a few more weeks later that he followed Zoro out into the balcony.

~0~

{Three months ago}

"Look, over there! How about him, Zoro?", Zoro turned, annoyed, as his younger, adopted brother tugged on his sleeve and made an obvious show of pointing someone out.

"_Shut up!_ Don't be so fucking obvious Luffy, Jesus Christ, man!", They were at one of those social parties that were so fucking annoying, but were mandatory that he attend. Ever since he had admitted to his younger brother that he wasn't exactly interested in the opposite gender, the black-haired idiot had been adamant on settling him down with a man, regardless if the potential lover were gay or straight, a close friend or even a complete stranger. Luffy had pointed them all out, from ancient wizened old men to young teenage boys.

"If it's another kid, Luffy, for once and all I _am not a pedophile._", Zoro said, turning and following with his eyes the direction of his brother's pointing finger. He seriously didn't know why he kept on turning and seeing who Luffy had pointed out. Maybe he just did it for the laughs. Maybe he still had some hope left.

"Aghh, Luffy, the guy's fucking _fat_ and he looks old enough to be friends with Jesus! Will you _stop-"_

"No! Not him, the guy next to him! On the right!"

"What-Oh.", Zoro did a double-take in spite of himself. Hot blonde looking bored, his age or a little younger, with his hands in his pockets, leaning against a wall, talking a woman up, "Who's that?"

"I don't know! Haven't seen him before. Should I go ask?", Luffy poised himself to hurtle across the room in the blonde's direction.

"No, you idiot. You'll freak him out. How come I've never seen him before? I've been at these fucking parties since day one.", Zoro asked thoughtfully. He liked his job well enough; working for the marines as one of the military strategists, though he was only a rookie, had its perks, and was rewarding. But all the social events he had to attend to cater to the right people were annoying. Luckily, Luffy was allowed to tag along. Guests were welcome, if you were the right person.

And he was the 'right person' so help him God. (Though he didn't believe in God, he just liked saying that.) He didn't really notice when people started to recognize him or to introduce themselves timidly or with an air of importance. But suddenly, he just hadn't been Roronoa Zoro. He had been _the_ Roronoa Zoro, brilliant new military rookie who was in _direct contact_ with all the _really big_ names.

Or as Luffy liked to say, '"You're famous, Zoro!"

It wasn't that much of a drag; amazing travel opportunities; currently, he was residing in Japan of all places . Japan! He had never thought much of it, out of it being the place where sushi and anime originated. Fucking _great_ salary. Zoro was pretty sure he took in more than $5 million a year, after taxes. All for designing tactics for potential warfare and overseeing the designs of the different weapons. It wasn't even hard. …_Summertime…and the living's easy…_or so Sublime said.

Though the frequent assassination attempts were rather annoying. Sometimes they were so half-assed, he felt embarrassed, but there were times when he could feel the wind of the bullet graze his cheek. Why people wanted him dead, he didn't know, or care. He didn't bother with that stuff. It probably had to do with organized crime and foreign politics, anyway. _That_ people wanted him dead, he was also okay with him, he accepted it as part of the life that came with his job.

Though it did make having friends and lovers he trusted far and few between.

Which was why Luffy was observing the newcomer with such insistence, "Well, what about him? Does he look good?", Luffy demanded, as though her were talking about a hunk of meat, sitting beneath the butcher's glass in the supermarket.

"_Of course_ he looks good Luffy. It's not all about looks though. And it doesn't mean he's _interested _either. He doesn't look like the type.", Zoro said, casting another cursory glance at the blonde near the buffet tables.

"You don't look like the type either.", Luffy pointed out, quite reasonably.

"Yeah, but still, what are the chances?", Zoro replied, thinking _Goddamn it, Luffy makes so much damn sense sometimes._

"You could at least try.", Luffy had persisted.

"No.", he had said, and that had been that_. Anyway,_ Zoro thought _Guy looks straighter than a fucking freeway. _

So when he heard that Sanji Jambe, as the mysterious man turned out to be named swung both ways quite cheerfully, he was surprised as any. The information had found his way to him from Luffy, of all people.

"Are you sure?", he had asked, skeptic.

"Yeah! That's what he said! Coz I said, 'Have you found anyone special?' and he said, 'No. I'm still looking for the right girl, or guy.' And _I _said, 'Guy? Are you _gay_?' and _he_ said, 'No, I just love fall in love with people without caring which way they pee. Got a problem with that?' and _I_ said, 'No! That's great!' and _he_ said, 'You're weird kid.' And _I_ said, "I'm not the one with the curly eyebrows-"

"Okay, Luffy. Okay, I see where this is going."

Zoro had kept his eye on Sanji Jambe, not just for a potential fooling around type of deal, but for something more lasting. Friends he had; but it would be great if he could hang out with one who actually could step foot in these damn parties.

But Sanji Jambe kept his distance. He would always keep in the fringes of Zoro's vision, moving politely away if he came too close, dancing just out of reach without seeming to even realize that he was doing so. It was intoxicating. And since there was nothing better to do at these events in which Sanji showed up at then watch Luffy throw boogers in people's drinks, he made it a sort of game to chase after the blonde man, making his intentions clear with soft, secretive glances and signals.

And be damned if he didn't catch Sanji Jambe smiling at him from beneath his yellow hair and at times posing very provocatively. It go so, Zoro nearly salivated on sight when he saw the black suit and jutting cigarette. He hadn't even talked to the other guy, and Zoro already carried a small tube of Lubriderm in his pocket.

It became a sort of game to him, to try to capture Sanji Jambe; and Zoro began to look forward to the parties he had disliked so much before. A feeling of mutual friendship seemed to spring between them without even exchanging a word.

It had taken another assassination attempt to open his eyes more widely and snap him out of his daze. He had been right about to go down on a one-night-stand type of guy who had also been a sort of friend when the same so-called friend had nearly put six inches of steel into his chest.

It had been rather close, Zoro had managed to dodge and counter-attack; but the man had swallowed a cyanide pill just before, and he died writhing in his arms. Not only had been a harrowing experience and settled him into gloom for weeks, but he saw Sanji Jambe in a different way. Could it be that the blonde temptation was just another trap set out for him?

He had finally done a thorough background check on the man, feeling like a rat for doing so, but doing it nevertheless. And Zoro had been immensely relieved to see that it had turned up clear. Though, that in itself could mean nothing. His 'friend' had also been clear.

So when the balcony door had opened up behind him, and he knew exactly who it was because only one man in his life at the moment could get his stomach all tense and coiled like that; he had been excited, apprehensive, euphoric, and wary all the same time.

The rest that happened was history.

~0~


	3. The Game of the Jackal

Chapter 3

The Game of the Jackal

It was a grey Thursday, it rained

Ask for a song for me, he says

In the lobby of a cheap hotel

Just come from having rented the flesh for a while

With the joy of owing, completed

Acrobatics of pleasure, faked

An orgasm for rent, with sound

The red gloss of the lips, nearly gone

Tell me, does sex without pleasure, ignite you?

-"Iluso", Ricardo Arjona

~0~

_Tokyo, Japan _

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

And he did.

Was it so hard to understand that mere fact? Especially coming from someone so knowledgeable in the this field as him? Sanji lifted his long legs and crossed them on the low, glass coffee table in front of him. A long drag from the Camel in his hand drove most of the irritation out of his system. There was nothing quite like nicotine drifting through the lungs, inflating each alveoli sac with sultry smoke.

He was in his apartment, sitting on the same couch he had been sitting on when the call that had triggered this entire avalanche had reached him. Sitting on the other couch, in front of him was another man, his hair cut short on the sides and styled in a strange Mohawk, shaped vaguely like the number three.

"But Sanji-I have to caution you-", the man's strange, accented, fawning voice freshened Sanji's dislike towards him and prodded the migraine in his left temple, waiting to happen.

"What? Afraid that I might lose him?", Sanji dropped his head back on the cushions and cracked his neck, first one way, then the other.

"_Yes._ Everybody's absolutely _delighted_ that you managed to get him, even though you moved faster than you usually do…but now everybody's worried to death about what you're doing now." Mr. Three wrung his hands in nervousness.

Mr. Three looked at him with anxiety, his face shining slightly with the sheen of sweat. Sanji felt a little revolted in spite of himself, it seemed as if Mr. Three was always sweating, whether it was hot or cold. The man vaguely reminded him of a large candle, always lit and melting wax steadily.

"Galdino…between friends…", Sanji paused and considered, then continued, "Forgive me…I meant, between one_ colleague_ to another…I am working with the utmost discretion and with the good health of the organization at the forefront of my mind."

"With all due respect, Sanji, I cannot simply believe this with the way you're acting-", Mr. Three began, his voice weakly protesting.

"Galdino…my patience is wearing thin. I suggest that if you have nothing constructive to say, then you get the fuck out of my apartment.", Sanji's voice is pitched low, musical, deadly. It is voice his victims never hear, except perhaps, until the last day of their association with him.

"P-Please excuse my rudeness, Mr. Prince!", Mr. Three is sweating furiously now, scared. He has not chosen this job of questioning the most feared and most sinister assassin in his own lair.

"I will once you tell me what you're going to tell Mr. Zero.", Sanji holds out his glass, and Mr. Three fills it immediately, even producing a little paper umbrella to stick in it.

"T-That you are obviously in control the entire situation, and we should limit our interference in your affairs lest we disturb you.", Mr. Three reels off, his eyes wide behind his strangely shaped glasses.

"Perfect.", Sanji lets his voice purr from his chest, fatally sweet. A voice to match its owner.

After Mr. Three has finally removed his offensive presence from his immediate surroundings, Sanji wanders into his bedroom and sits down gently in an antique rocking chair that someone has cleverly placed near the large, glass window. He rocks back and forth gently, letting the movements sooth him, letting his mind flow over his plans and secrets; reassuring himself again, that what he is doing is right. Not morally right; logically right.

It had been nearly two weeks since he had last seen Roronoa Zoro.

That is why they have been constantly badgering him, sending more and more agents to come talk some sense in him; apparently feeling that since he has managed to sink his claws into the man, that he should be letting the man fuck his brains out and letting all the semen and secrets find their way, intermixed, inside of him.

Usually that would be what he would be doing at this stage, using every day to his ultimate advantage. But no, not this time, not with this man. This man is different. Sanji could feel it in their bond, something strange and unusual in his fucking. Apart from being an amazing lover, it was something else.

_His name is Zoro…Zoro…get used to it. _

Yes, Zoro.

He had decided to not come back, not to seek out Zoro, to hide for a time, and then…

Pounce. A quick slash of the fangs, his jaws sunk in three inches deep before Zoro even knew was happening. It was a favorite trick of the wolf breeds, if he wasn't mistaken. Well, he had learned from experience that the rules of the jungle worked just as well in the lives of humans.

Sanji wasn't sure why, but his instinct had guided him to this plan. He just felt it, a feeling at the pit of his stomach which had just told him to wait, to do nothing but quietly spin his webs of deceit in the background. A yellow spider. It had been a last minute decision, a sort of flying whim; but it had been so strong that Sanji had followed it without a second thought. It was his ultimate trust in his instincts, in the nearly animalistic way he approached his job that had made him the best in the dirtiest business alive.

But he wanted Zoro on the edge of his seat, kept on his metaphorical toes. Zoro had tasted him one time, and had, no doubt, been left with the desire to taste him again, more fully. The other man would seek him out again, but would find him gone. It was the problem with the typical seducer, they let their prey use them, gorge on their flavor, with the end result of being thrown away once their victims had sucked them dry.

But Zoro, he was different. Sanji knew that, if he had judged correctly, Zoro would have been left with something much more than desire, something akin to lust. He wasn't conceited, but he understood that he was a phenomenal lay. And now, somewhere, Zoro was thirsting for him, every day that passed by in which he didn't show his face, made him more attractive, more sweet, more mysterious, more desirous. Something that you didn't have always tasted that much more delicious; it was a lesson he knew well.

He had already been informed of Zoro's job, his likes, his dislikes, what he was supposed to keep an eye out for, what information was the most valuable. So on that account, he was well-informed.

Anything, even the remotest, most vaguest hintings of anything to do with the marines and their military tactics was the juiciest information he could harvest from his man. Anything else was also fair game, no matter how trivial it was, was too be reported and assessed by those who made a living doing just that. Those were the rules. Ah, and of course-when the time was judged right, he would kill Zoro.

~0~

He passed a few more days in his self-imposed exile. Not going out at all, only opening the door for Mr. Three or Mr. Two's secret knock; two heavy raps and three light, rapid taps. From them he obtained his groceries and his information. Other than that, he sat and smoked, exercised in the closeness of his apartment.

Finally, after thirteen days had passed since he had been fucked on the balcony by a man whom he had been slated to kill, Sanji receives one of the usual invitations to another high class society event, via Mr. Two, and it is the catalyst which causes him to break his isolation, and reenter the world.

~0~

It is another one of those social parties, one to which Zoro will undoubtly be invited to, and thus, it is half the reason why Sanji has decided to go . All the elements are the same, the same people, some new faces of course, the same conversation, the same dresses and suits.

The other half is that is Halloween and the high society is having a masquerade. And the blond trickster thinks, what better way to begin this game that he must play, that he loves to play; then to show himself as he is, a man with a mask and a secret?

Sanji Jambe has prepared himself well. His suit is Givenchy, as black as night, as silky as desire. The buttons shine like diamonds because they are. His shoes are perfection, midnight black, shined to a polish. Cufflinks are solid gold, set with a tiny sapphire, the color of his eyes. He wears a wine red dress shirt underneath, it is worth a small fortune and he carries with the aura of a king. His tie is inky darkness, oddly sexual.

Ah, and of course, his mask for the masquerade. It is small, unpretentious; he wants to be recognized if he is looked for. It is black as well, a deep velvet that excites, and covers only his eyes and forehead, he wants his mouth free, because he knows he'll use it before the day ends. Wine red feathers, their carmine color matching his shirt, decorate the upper edge, more sapphires, set around the eyeholes, serve to enhance the intense blue of his irises. _Sexual d'homme _can be detected, floating in his footstep, like an avid admirer.

He is more than handsome when he walks into the brightly lit ballroom, only its corners seeped in shadow; he is magnificent. There is a subtle hush as he walks down the staircase, and appreciative murmurs from both men and women fill his ears, one studded with a diamond too large and brilliant for it to be a fake. He is breathtakingly sensual.

Sanji smiles and kisses hands left and right, hearing his name repeated from ear to ear, pretending not to hear; and making sure to not look around, pretending not to be searching with all his will, for a green haired head. He pretends left and right.

The women adore him as usual, they fawn over his kisses; the older ones push their fresh, plump-breasted daughters in his direction; while the younger ones claim his body for their own, a feeling which is achingly familiar, no matter if it comes from a man or a woman.

There are many masks in the ballroom. Some are small and discrete, like his; other's, large and ostentatious, rendering the identity of the wearer, a mystery. Sanji sees them all and marks them, remembers each one. He knows that it is unnecessary, but he does it anyway, his training stronger than steel.

The dances go on and on. The orchestra is good, and they begin with slow, classical music. Sanji takes a lady's arm and dances her across the room, his moves beautiful and perfect, the envy of every man; his partner, of every woman.

"Would you like to dance mademoiselle?", his English, beautifully accented with the young French millionaire he is supposed be impersonating, is dashingly exotic, a sensation, in this Japanese nation.

"_Avec _grand plaisir, _monsieur_.", he hears his French parroted back at him, the young ladies and gentlemen's manner of impressing him. And he is highly amused at their expense, knowing that his French is a farce, their poor attempts more real than his perfect knowledge of the language.

Sanji's slow dancing is like everything about him, sensual. He dances like he is holding back a fiery passion which threatens to consume him and his partner. His hands caress his partner's back and waist, moves too urgent and expectant to be appropriate. Every woman who enters the trap of his arms is left feeling dazed, slightly aroused with the way the sapphires of his eyes run over their bodies. Worshipping, degrading.

Even the men come to take their turn and claim him for a dance; some are badgered into it by their wives or lovers, as a joke, to show how a real gentleman dances. Some come with no excuse, but defiant. But all take the women's position without a protest, when Sanji extends a hand to them. He dips them and twirls them, places his forehead against their smooth ones, and feels their hard bodies through the layers of their suits just as needily as if he clasped a woman to his chest.

As the night passes and the various crystal goblets of vintage wine are emptied and refilled and emptied once again, the orchestra feels the shifting of the intermixed emotions around the expansive ballroom, and violins begin their wavering sopranos in a swirling tango of temptation.

And as the first violin begins its chaotic harmony, Sanji releases his woman partner and bows, she curtsies, signaling the _fin_ of their dance, and of their partnership. He turns, already searching for a fresh new face, be it woman or man. The shrill voice of the violins excite him, make his blood sing with a quixotic euphoria.

"May I have this dance?" An outstretched hand, beckoning him. The last time he felt that hand, it was on his waist, gripping him needily, so that the man could jerk his cock in an out of him, to the own tempo of another, more intimate tango where the violins were gasps, and the piano, moans.

Sanji smiles, triumphant, the victory is his, he had gambled it all and won. He struggles hard to keep the exultant emotions from displaying themselves on his face and in his eyes. And he assumes the women's position now, and accepts the dance to the flurry of the violins, both those in his heart and in his ears.

He lays his gloved hand in his victims', "But of course, _monsieur_."

~0~

After their intimate encounter on the balcony thirteen days ago, Zoro had been expectant; he had taken leave from Sanji Jambe with a whispered invitation to the blonde's ear to come again, and soon. Please.

But the man had disappeared. The blonde fox had vanished into thin air, so much like the legends of the succubus of the night that there were times in which Zoro wondered if perhaps, everything on the balcony had been but a dream within a dream, the blond man, a hallucination born from his own dark desires.

He wanted to see Sanji Jambe again, wanted to fuck him again, wanted to see his face and kiss his lips. Wanted more than all these things, to hold him and get to know him. Make him a friend and a lover.

But he had neither. Sanji Jambe was nowhere to be found; and Zoro's days passed by in an increasing worry, wondering where the man had gone. Wondering to what far and distant land Sanji Jambe had disappeared to, leaving him only with fantasies and an obsession to taste his skin again. To see if his body was as sensuous as his cock remembered.

And then, the masquerade. Zoro had gone, more because Luffy had wanted to dress up as a pirate then because he expected to see Sanji again. But there he had been. Unexpected and sudden, a flash flood of desire.

Walking down the staircase as if he had never been gone, looking achingly handsome, looking perfect and wonderful, his aura exceeding charismatic. A prince who would never look his way. A star which he had no hope of winning or even reaching. Who had sung that famous ballad, that it was easier to reach the sun then the person they wanted?

And how he danced…it was painful to watch the moves and not imagine him twisting and writhing underneath him, crying his name, accepting his cock eagerly, taking his come with a grateful sigh. Utterly graceful and refined. Yet, something dirty underneath. He was fool's gold. A fool's dream and in idiot's adventure.

He watched, sitting in the corner, how the women and men flocked to his side, drawn to the light even as it burned their bodies to a brilliant crisp. Watched, too, how the men assumed the women's position without complaint, succumbing to Sanji's authority wordlessly.

It surprised and confused him, how a man as suave and intensely powerful, would have let him take him in so base a manner, would have, for his own pleasure, dropped to his knees and sucked each of his balls in so whorish a manner. His skin heated at the mere memory.

Had he been used? Had Sanji Jambe simply used him for his own quick release, his own private kink? A slut on a balcony for a night? The more Zoro thought about it, and the more beer he drank-none of that frizzy champagne for him-the more he thought so. And the more pissed he got. He was no man's one night stand, no matter how delicious that man was.

His eyes followed the blond head for the entire evening, a jealousy he didn't know he possessed, twisting his gut every time Sanji took another man in his arms. Every time another woman curled her hands in his dirty blond hair.

Perhaps it was midnight, when the tango began. A dance reserved for the audacity of the black nightm when all the conservatives matrons and old men had tired of their dancing shoes and had retired to their four poster beds. The dance of passion and love. Of jealousy. Of trust and betrayal. Of heat and desire. Sex and lust.

He got up to claim his partner.

His own mask in place, his a simple black which covered only his eyes and the top of his nose, but his forehead obscured by a black velvet bandana which went well with his black suit and forest green dress shirt, Zoro got up and walked towards where Sanji was separating himself from his most recent admirer.

And then he was turning, and Zoro was drowning in the azure oceans of his eyes. Drowning and the drowning was fine. It had been dark when they had loved, and he hadn't seen the sapphires of his eyes, if he had, he wouldn't have been able to have let the man go.

But he willed himself to stretch out a confidant hand, willed his mouth to open and ask, "May I have this dance?" Willed the tone to be casual and negligent , as if he wasn't dying to tear the suit from off that hard body and run his tongue over everything, stick fingers in places which were biblically forbidden.

Zoro wasn't sure what he was expecting to see in those blue eyes, guilt maybe, fear perhaps. But the sincere and utter joy which lit up those eyes was utterly unexpected. He also had expected to fight to lead Sanji in the dance, but Sanji immediately allowed him to take it.

And then the orchestra's pianos joined the heady violins, in mesmerizing cadence, creating a needy and quickening melody which throbbed in the air like a musical erection. And Sanji reached out and laid his hand, neatly gloved in carmine gloves, in his. Zoro could feel the heat of his flesh through the velvety material, and he wondered how it would feel to have those hands, wrapped in those gloves, around his aching cock.

Zoro twirled Sanji out, and pulled him greedily in, their chests touching, his hands slid down the small of his back and tightened on the tops of his ass for only a second, before he spun him out again.

The piano harmonized perfectly with the rising crescendo of the violins and cellos.

Sanji wrapped a leg halfway up Zoro's legs and let Zoro dip him, the movement causing his crotch to rub tantalizing across Zoro's. Their moans were lost in the rising wave of music which was claiming everyone around them in mesmerizing cadence. They are in the center of approving attention.

"Where have you been?", Zoro whispers into Sanji's ear, letting their bodies mold together for a second before they separate.

"Does it matter, monsieur?", Sanji answers, his eyelids are cast down, hiding his eyes.

"It does to me. I've-wanted to see you again…Sanji.", he chances the use of his name, not sure if he should yell at the man or kiss him the next time their bodies touch.

"I didn't think you'd care.", is the surprising reply, and then, astoundingly, "I thought you didn't want to see me again.", Sanji finally looks up at him, lips curving in amusement, "Was I wrong?"

"_Yes._ Why the hell wouldn't I want to see you again, Sanji?", Zoro feels completely dumbfounded, the tables have turned so fast, they are still spinning in his head; he is dumfounded. And he hates to admit it,_ very_ fucking relieved, "I mean, after… what we did, I told you to contact me."

"Sometime when people tell me that, they actually mean, 'that was a good fuck…now get out of my life.", Sanji relaxes his body and lets Zoro dip him, his head falling back beautifully.

"No! That's not what I meant-"

"It seems as if we've suffered a misunderstanding, then _monsieur Zoro_. You must forgive me.", the music ends, and they bow to each other, perfectly polite. And Zoro is left wondering if the dances have always been so short, or if it was just this one which doesn't seem to obey the laws of time, "It's over already?"

"The tango is a passionate dance, full of fire. According to the rules of desire, it should not last long. And so it does not.", Sanji murmurs softly, and drops his hands from Zoro's shoulders.

They bow to each other again, in the midst of other couples.

"Well- wait! Where are you going?",When he straightens, Zoro is surprised to see that Sanji is heading off already, and Zoro, not eager to lose sight of him again so soon, follows.

"Where am I going?", Sanji glances behind him and smiles, "Why, it is deep into the night, and all this dancing has tired me out considerably. I think to go to my apartment and sleep." He is already at the glass French doors, opening them to another hallway, moving so fast that Zoro is following him without a second thought.

"Wait! Sanji-I mean, we've just barely met-_again_-we've barely met again-and I-" Zoro is protesting but they are still hurrying down the hallway to the outside world, he almost can't keep up with the strides of those legs.

"Ah, you must forgive me, monsieur. But you see, my limousine turns into a pumpkin, and my Givenchy into a Calvin Klein, at midnight.", Sanji is smirking broadly, as he pushes open the doors and strides out into the large circular plaza.

"What? Why can't you stay?", Zoro reaches out and snags a corner of the black suit, is immediately awarded with a look of smouldering temptation, he is taken aback by that gaze and his fingers slide away from the bit of fabric he has managed to capture, "What?"

"Don't touch me…monsieur.", Sanji says, and turns his sleek blonde head the other way, most likely looking for an available taxi or other form of transportation.

"Oh? When did your ass turn to gold?", Zoro can't help feeling hurt, and pissed as hell at the feelings those four words have on him.

Sanji turns towards him, the streetlights on the edges of the plaza are not bright enough for Zoro to see the shine in his blue eyes, the eager predatory glare of a jackal at hunt. "You misunderstand. I said 'don't touch me' because…", he trailed off, the pause heavy and expectant to Zoro's ears.

"…because what?", he steps forward, their chests nearly touching, "Sanji?" He didn't know what he was expecting to hear coming from Sanji's full lips, but he was holding his breath, the hair on the nape of his neck alive with static electricity. The way the blond's eyes kept sliding back to his own in long, shy glances…the way his words trailed off with bated expectancy….it all pointed to one thing.

"Because I don't like being taunted with something I can't possibly have.", Sanji refused to look at him, he turned to survey the oncoming cars, hands digging into his suit pickets.

"Sanji-", Zoro laughs softly and sticks his own hands in his pockets in imitation of the other man, he can afford to laugh now; to think that all his worry had rested on something so simple and rather amusing. "Sanji, I'm sorry, but I have absolutely no problem with having sex with you…as you can personally attest to." He reaches up and places his hands on Sanji's broad shoulders, the fingers lightly massaging.

This time Sanji does not reject the caress, but leans back into him, relaxing his body in a way that has Zoro's hands taking the liberty of gripping his hips.

The proximity of their bodies causes his next words to be both noise and vibration, "To tell the truth…Zoro…I was a little nervous to see you again."

Feeling that there has been acceptance of whatever has developed between them, he nuzzles into the blond's neck, sighing softly as he inhales the musk and sweat, a tantalizing mixture he remembers well, "Why is that, Sanji?"

"I thought that, perhaps, I had pushed you too far in our last acquaintance.", Zoro can feel the velvet of Sanji's gloves playing slightly over his own hands, running circles over his knuckles.

"Sanji-I said before…that I would gladly have repeated that night if you had given me half a chance.", Zoro tilts the blond head and kisses the heated skin of his neck, the fact that he is feeling up a man outside on a public street barely enters his head, he is caught up with the way the skin beneath his lips seems to mold to his mouth.

Sanji sighs underneath his touch, and then, slowly detaches himself, "I need to call a taxi."

Zoro feels the loss of heat acutely, his hands itch to snatch the man back and tilt his head viciously back, suck his mouth dry, kiss his lips until they turn red with abuse. Spread him and enter him fiercely. He doesn't know if Sanji can read this wants in his mind, but he feels them burning at the forefront of his mind.

"I'm going home.", Sanji says. He reaches up and tugs on the diamond in his ear, "Do you want to come with me?" The emphasis on the fifth word is obvious, the meaning and invitation clear and aching.

"Yes.", Zoro replies, it comes out husky and he coughs slightly to clear his throat of that need, "Yes. I do. I'll come."

Sanji smiles at him, his eyes black under the shadows of his lids, "I'm not good for you Zoro. Not at all. I advise you to… reconsider." He turns and hails a yellow cab, and the headlights splash across them as it pulls up.

Zoro smirks lightly, turning him gently back and tapping the blonde on his forehead, "I think I can handle you, Sanji Jambe." He opens the door for his prince. "After you, _Sanji-sama_."

Sanji slides in, smiling, "I warned you _monsieur_. I warned you."

~0~

They're on Sanji's bed, helping each other with their clothes. Zoro has no way of knowing that the bed underneath him is rented, and that Sanji has never slept in it himself. He has no way of knowing that the apartment in which he has let himself be led into, is as empty as the heart of the man who owns it. The imitation Picassos hanging on the wall more real than their sex.

Sanji manages to unzip Zoro's pants using only his mouth, with the end result of leaving him fully erect by the time Sanji slides the dark material off his legs. The constant mouthings have left the cloth of his crotch slightly damp with condensation and his mind fuzzy with the sensations. His boxers soon follow, and Sanji begins to strip his own attire off, beginning with those mesmerizing velvet gloves which have captured his imagination.

Zoro reaches up and stops him, "Leave them on.", he murmurs. Visions of Sanji, naked except for his carmine gloves, float murkily in his mind.

Sanji, though a small chuckle escapes him, leave his gloves on, and he starts to lift his shirt off. Zoro tries to get up, to help him, but Sanji stops him, pushes him halfway down with another of his slow secretive smiles which cause Zoro's stomach to twist pleasantly and his blood to rush through his cock.

"You want a show. _Monsieur _Zoro?", Sanji pauses in his stripping, and crisscrosses his hands over his chest, seizing the tips of his shirt and slowly lifting the ends up a few inches, letting his skin peak through teasingly. He doesn't seem to care if Zoro wants a show or not, because he immediately begins to slowly pull his shirt up, undulating his hips slowly in a manner reminiscent of achingly slow intercourse.

At some other times, at some other place, the exaggerated motions would have looked silly, but they do not when the viewer is on the verge of ejaculation and whose mind is clouded with thick lust. Right now, Sanji's softly gyrating hips look utterly dirty and intensely arousing. All Zoro can greedily think of is that same motion around his cock, suffocatingly tight.

Finally, Sanji's nude except for his gloves, a living fantasy. Everyone's darkest secret in his bed, it is addicting. The bloody color of the gloves contrast against his white skin, making it seem paler than it really is, and Zoro is reminded of creamy marble, strong and supple, beautiful and handsome, innocent and awfully sensual. Sanji Jambe is a sexual paradox.

Zoro has heard of sexual heat compared to velvet, but the tight softness that now encloses his aching erection is the real thing. The yielding suppleness of the cloth contrasts deliciously with the pressure that Sanji is applying, sliding his hand tightly across every inch, now quickly, now slowly, now so hard it hurts, no so soft that it tickles and curls heat in his belly.

His hands have a dancing rhythm, they really know how to caress a cock to perfection. To the man on top of him, the teasing is an art, the sex a masterpiece that he creates with his body for a paintbrush and his life for an easel. The colors of his palette are the red of lust, the orange of need, and the black of secrecy. The only blue is in his eyes.

Before he adds the white of completion to the painting in his bed, Sanji stops and Zoro, understanding, pulls him down, making room for the blond underneath him, and seizes the bottle that has somehow found its way to their bed. Dangerously convenient.

Seconds later, he is helping long legs hook around his waist and guiding the head of his leaking cock into Sanji. Taking it slowly, shifting his bulk inside with care, regardless of the need to hurry, hurry, hurry. Sanji has time to remember that he has inserted daggers with just as much precision and just as much care into hearts and jugulars of unsuspecting men and women.

When he is fully inside, he leans over to fill his lover's mouth with moans, and Sanji takes the opportunity to reach up and graze his velvet hands across Zoro's back. It is utterly sensual, and Zoro dissolves inside of him, rocking back and forth on top of what feels like sheet metal enclosed in flesh, calling his name. He thinks that the dark crimson looks delicious against his tanned skin. He has no way of knowing that Sanji thinks they look like treacherous bloodclots, reminiscent of murder.

He has no way of knowing that there isn't a lover in his bed, but a jackal. And that their relationship is in no way mutualistic, but the very dregs of parasitism.

He comes when Sanji does, seeing Sanji masturbate with his red velvet hands is too hot for him not to. Zoro feels the heated fluid splash over his lower body and nothing has felt more satisfying in his life than that feeling of dual satisfaction.

~0~

Zoro has an arm thrown around him, supporting his head, the wrist curling to play with the light strands of his yellow hair. He is languid, murmuring soft nothings which Sanji hears and immediately categorizes. To the green haired man, it is undoubtly the time of relaxation and post-orgasmic serenity while his mind slowly unwinds amidst the musk of their most recent sex.

But to Sanji, it is time to work. It is not difficult for him to feign a half masted droopiness of the eyelids, to slow and steady his breathing so it sounds like he's halfway under the spell of the sandman. But his heart beats with slow luxuriance, his ears straining to catch the secrets he can almost hear residing in Zoro's chest.

Zoro is murmuring something about how he always wanted to talk to him but hadn't found the opportunity to until the night when it had all started.

Sanji nods and listens and says all the right things. He doesn't feign interest in what Zoro says, doesn't feign the satisfaction with their intimate coupling, does not fake the friendship that wells up in his chest for Zoro.

Sanji feels all these things with utter sincerity. He _does _want to know everything Zoro says, he _had _enjoyed the sex, both for the physical pleasure and the immaterial pleasure. He _does_ enjoy Zoro's company. He has learned long ago that the best way to fake emotions, is to not. He _feels _them. When the time is right, he will discard them. And that is why he is Mr. Prince. Baroque Work's best kept secret.

~0~

**Author's note: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! I appreciate all comments, critiques, and criticism as it is what helps a writer develop and hone their literary skills. **

_**THE GECKO. **_


	4. Commencing the Falsifications

_**Chapter Four**_

Commencing the Falsifications

Floating, floating, floating, floating, floating

See me here in the air

Not holding on to anywhere

But holding on, so beware

I have secrets I won't share

-_"Clowns (Can you see me now?)", T.A.T.U_

~0~

The first day of work, _true_ work is the most exciting, in his silent opinion. It is the day when things really begin to distort in his mind, when colors sharpen, and he laughs more freely. It feels good to have a lover, to have something to slip into, to feed on. Damn fine.

He lies there, in the warmth of the bed shared between them, almost drowsy with his own gluttonous scavenging. He can almost believe that he is Sanji Jambe, young French millionaire, abroad in Japan for the advertising sector of his silverware company. He can almost believe he has found a nice, friendly lover for once, someone whom he actually cares about.

It is so close, he can almost taste it. That bittersweet taste of _almost._

He slips in one naked leg between the man's legs beside him, just as if he really liked to snuggle and is immediately rewarded with a strong hand trailing up the length of his thigh. He shivers, pretending to love it.

_No…_he _does_ love it.

"You're-you're the best lay I've had in years." the deep rumble above him is amused, rueful, slightly awkward. Blunt and forward. So strange. Unrefined and the furthest thing from cultured. A coarse voice. The sincerity in it converting it into some absurd paradox.

Sanji sighs inside. Zoro, apparently, is not a sweet talker. That's just as well, it's always been the same. First comes the sex, then the fluffy, melting compliments, then the wine bottles shipped to his room, the expensive cigars. The Givenchy shirts and the Armani diamonds appear magically, as if he was a woman. But it is all a farce, they all want intercourse. They want to fuck. But, shit, so does he.

"I think you're the best lover I've _ever _had." Sanji murmurs back. Add a touch of defensive embarrassment, a sprig of tired admiration, and a side dish of subtle lust with a sprinkle of satisfaction, and he has created a beautiful dish of sexual deception. He is, a chef, to the last blood cell in his deceitful body.

"Naw, don't fuck with me." Zoro's playful jibe throws him of guard for a beat; there's a brief milisecond in which Sanji realizes with horror that he has no idea how to respond to that innocent jibe.

No fucking idea.

But then, it comes. And there must not have been a significant pause because Zoro did not look in the least suspicious , but Sanji's heart races like jackhammer in his heart.

"Don't fuck with you? Are you sure that is what you want?" he smiles, he lets his eyelids droop and his blond hair slide over an eye. Playful, nice, raunchy. How he had used to live. Was it really so hard to act like himself? Can it be that he has lost who he really is with all the coats he has shed?

Zoro ignores his double entrade with a grin, which is so open and so honest, Sanji immediately smiles back, happy that the man's trust has been gained so quickly, with so little fuss. Was his body so mesmerizing? All he had was a cock and a hole. It confuses him. And immediately, paranoia settles its bloated body on his chest, seeming to constrict his heart.

"Liar…How many others have you left behind?"

It's such an innocent question, and the complete lack of suspicion has the hackles on Sanji's neck flaring, ready for the guns and the dogs. How many had he left behind? What did this man mean? Was he asking how many he had murdered? How many he had slipped into and sucked dry? What did this man mean? What could he possibly mean?

Sanji continued to slide his leg up and down Zoro's legs, snuggling his head into the other man's neck, "I'm not sure what you're asking…"

Zoro chuckled, and Sanji froze slightly. It was always laughter which condemned. Always laughter was the last thing he heard before they turned against him, if they had been savvy enough to wise up to his sweet nothing. They would laugh at him because inside they were scared. Frightened at how close they had come to falling into his rancid claws. Because it usually wasn't savvy which saved them, but chance, a mere caprice which had smiled their way.

"I'm asking you how many men there have been before me, Sanji." Zoro said, a quiet rumble in the semi-darkness. A warm, reassuring hand traced small, meaningless circles on his shoulder. If this continued for longer, he would go mad. No, he would _not._ He would stay there and control the emotions that were threatening to eat him raw.

How long had it been since he had felt such sincerity in a man's actions? How long had it been since he had felt such warmth? How many layers had he shed since there was even this kindness?

Oh, god, this amiability would be the end of him.

"There's no one who's been quite like you." Sanji answers instead, smiling even though Zoro would not be able to see that curve of the lips which means so much. But maybe Zoro would hear it in his words and be at ease. In any case, smiling is good for him. It helps him get into the mood and revel in it.

"I can say that same thing about you." Zoro replied, the hand at Sanji's shoulders wandered down to trail along his arm. It gave him a shuddering, shivering sensation. It was too intimate. Let Zoro fuck him, let him force him down to his knees and wrench his jaws open and shove his hardened cock all the way his damn throat. Let him do anything and more!

But, oh save him from these gentle touches and small smiles of care! Release him from that particular obligation.

Sanji breathed deeply of Zoro's scent, slightly exhilarated at the proximity of the warm and gushing jugular, "I can't believe I met someone like you so far from home. I'm French, you know. You're not Japanese, I can tell…American?"

To begin with, a small introduction on his own part. What was the recipe called again? Deceit with succulent sauce of secrecy? A dish of survival of insincerity. What was it called? What did it matter? What mattered was that no meal was ever baked without the cook providing his own ingredients, manipulating them with expertise, and offering them to the culinary gods which might or might not exist.

"I know. I know all about you, Sanji." Zoro murmured, "I'm sorry. I had to find out…before." The hand gripped his shoulder tightly in a warm, apologetic fashion.

"I understand, don't worry." _Yes, worry_. Worry, because you didn't find out enough. You didn't find out nearly enough. All you know is shit. Because it is shit. Pure and utter shit.

Would he not calm down? His heart was racing, frightened like a child. He had been here times before, what was different?

Zoro was speaking, "But yeah, I'm American. It's pretty lonely out here in the land of the rising sun; all my friends are back in America. I knew I was crazy to accept the job transfer."

"Well, you have some you can talk to…and now you have me." Sanji murmured; saturating his voice with exactly sixty-six percent amusement.

"Do I?" Zoro murmured back, a slight longing fringing his voice like some modest fig leaf. "I nearly went out of my mind when you disappeared." He chuckles softly. Embarrassed, oh, he is embarrassed.

"I don't understand why. I'm nothing special." Sanji answers, reaching up to trace a light hand across a strong jaw. Understanding full well. Understanding his mute charisma which draws. Understanding the very Venus fly trap of his soul.

A warm, reassuring hand covers his own, pressing him to the tanned skin, forcing him to touch, to feel, to treasure, "No, you _are_. Sanji."

Sanji moves his hand restlessly, trapped against foreign skin, "Why?"

"I don't know."

No. Because he's beautiful, because he's hot, because he's gorgeous, because he fucks like a porn star, because he's talented, because he fucks, because he fucks, because he fucks.

Where is it? That self-occulting hypocrisy? That ravenous sexual appetite that only a true whore can alleviate? It is not like he can't act the lover, but he's so used to playing the fucker that this unusual tenderness is dizzying him.

"You don't know." Sanji repeats softly. The man is telling the truth, Zoro is telling him the truth. Sanji knows the truth when he hears it. Oh, _veritas_, that sensuous and cavorting woman whom he has parted ways with long since. Not embraced to her side, he can see her clearly when she struts by.

But what has he said? Oh, it goes two ways. A repetition or a statement which stands in solitary. Duality, like himself. The curse of always analyzing. He should watch more carefully his mouth; it is more used to being filled than talking.

Zoro's laughing again, it sounds both wonderful and terrifying to him, "No. I really don't know Sanji. I mean, it's more than just finding someone like us."

"Like us…" Sanji repeats softly. "Nevermind then…tell me about yourself, since you seem to know everything about me." Inside his mind, a little notebook comes out, hand with pen inside poised right above blank yellow sheets. His memory opens, a mouth filled with sharp teeth to catch it all.

"Eh…not much there. I'm just a guy that got a little above his actual comfort zone." Zoro shrugged, "I guess you know all about the hub-bub going around about my promotion? The shit's everywhere."

"Sort of." Though he knew probably more than Zoro himself. But for now he was ignorant. A fool.

"Yeah. Critics think I'm too young to be trusted with the nation's military security. Well, it's not like I alone make the decisions for the army. I just see what's going on and suggest what I think is the most plausible. Nothing too big…I really don't see why people are getting so riled about it." Zoro laughs, again playing his hand across Sanji's upper arm, and then wanders to his head, twirling strands of hair across his fingers.

_...it's not like I alone make the decisions for the army. I just see what's going on and suggest what I think is the most plausible…_Subject exhibits sincere bemusement over the public opinion of his position. Subject confesses his subordinate position towards his superiors, but also admits his key position as a military advisor. End.

"Me neither." Sanji shrugs again, "I don't even understand half of what you're saying. Military advisor, navy, army…they're all the same to me."

Zoro chuckled. "No, the navy is a different branch. I'm sort of like the Chief Military Advisor to the Chief Military Advisor. If that makes any sense. I help the helper in other words," he laughed, "Am I confusing you?"

Sanji shrugs lightly, his hand rested softly on Zoro's chest, his head cradled to the side of the other's arm, "All I know is that you're a pretty big fish…" he danced his hand down Zoro's muscular stomach, "With a pretty big-"

Zoro burst into a rumble of chuckles and grabbed his hand before Sanji managed to wrap it around his lax penis. He raised it to his lips and kissed it instead. Looking up through lowered eyelashes, Sanji saw that Zoro had closed his eyes, and was playing with his hand, now ungloved. Running the back of it against his chin, placing the palm on his check and snuggling into it. A ghost of a smile hovering above that look of happiness and peace.

It sent strange goosebumps up Sanji's spine and the urge to withdraw his hand flared deep within his stomach, a sudden desire which slithered throughout him like black honey.

Take his hand back. Take it back. Take it back before he kisses the palm and the spaces between the knuckles. Take it back before he places those chaste lips at the tips of the fingers and so kills him.

He slips like oiled silk on top of the man who had claimed his hand for himself, and in the voluptuous movement, he reclaims it. The hand is lost to the sudden mixture of sensitive flesh. Sanji is half way up Zoro's stretched out body, which is slightly propped by a few forgotten pillows. He gives his body so he can reclaim his heart.

A hand shifts through his yellow hair, affectionate; distracted.

Zoro's black eyes observe him, a small smile at the lips, "Aren't you ever tired from having sex?"

"Who said I wanted sex?" Sanji muses, his chin propped on Zoro's chest. He looks up candidly at the other man.

"I assume from your position that you wanted to have sex?" Zoro answers, grinning openly.

Sanji chuckled, but his eyelids drooped, "Why? Is it because I can do this?" Shifting his head a little, he flicked his tongue out and danced it across the dusky brown bud, tongue tickling the sensitive underside.

The small gasp and minute shifting of flesh underneath him was his award. The hand which had not strayed far from his head, twisted painfully in his hair and all but crushed his mouth to the man's chest. Sanji took it as a silent request to open his mouth and suck hard, which was what he did.

The little nipple was tight and hard in his mouth and he covered it with saliva, liking the way Zoro pinned him down and liking even more the growing length pressed into his stomach. Liking best of all the heavy breathing and the small hisses when he bit gently. Liking it, loving the way he could manipulate the man and the situation to fit him like a glove. They were in his courtroom now, honey.

Forcing his head up, Sanji looks at Zoro, eyes queerly blazing, "Well? Are you just going to sit there when I'm doing this?"

"I'm asking you if that's too much for you?" Zoro answers, the expression on his face struggling between need and care. "Aren't you-"

Sanji stilled and his expression dropped. But inside, he smiled.

"If you don't want to have sex with _me _Zoro, by all means tell me. I don't want to force myself upon you." He got up halfway, and on his knees looked woodenly at the greenhaired man, knowing full well that his erection almost points accusingly at Zoro.

"This is why I told you it wouldn't work," Sanji said, injecting just the right note of shame and crushed hope in his speech, "I take up too much of your time and energy, I know." He made to get off. Wondering if he was being too melodramatic. Perhaps he should swear a little, get angry?

And just as he expected, Zoro caught his hand fast, and Sanji turned to him, heart thumping, "Sanji, don't be an idiot. You_ know_ I want to have sex with you again. I just don't want you to think I'm _demanding_ it."

Sanji smiled, "Well then, what are you waiting for _monsieur?_" He loves calling Zoro that. Loves reasserting the falsity of his identity to the very face of the man he is so slyly deceiving and getting away with it.

Zoro yanked him down and rolled roughly on top of him, kissing his neck and shoulders in ways which made Sanji shudder. Then there were their erections shifting against each other, rubbing and grinding, turning their bellies to heated lead.

"Stop. Stop. Zoro." Sanji panted, tuning his face away and placing a restraining hand on the hard chest above him.

Zoro did, lips poised above his jugular, "What?"

There was a few seconds silence as Sanji played the part of being so completely unwound by Zoro's caresses that he needed some time to recollect his senses. But his body was somewhere else, far away. His mind was frozen, counting the seconds, directing his senses.

"Do me rough." He said, putting a little drag in his words, "Stop being so gentle with me. I'm not going to break. Use me. That's how I want it. Come on."

"Sanji…" He wasn't sure whether there was a warning in the tone of his name or not.

"Goddamn it Zoro. _Fucking use me._" he twisted up, and shoved Zoro to the side, managing to swing his legs over the bed and get off. "I'm letting you take me, why can't I ask something from you?" Just the perfect bite in his words, just the perfect hurt. His performance was perfect, ideal. It brought him more satisfaction than the sex ever did. This was a movie, he was the Actor and the audience was the mindless spiders in the corners of the room. He can hear their applause, the clapping of their thousands and thousands pairs of black, wiry legs. He can feel the weight of their many, many lidless eyes.

There were a few seconds in which Sanji felt a pang of fear as he heard nothing behind him, and his mind was already figuring out some excuse to stay in the room but then he felt the hands on his waist and he knew that this time, the sex was going to blow him away. And the knowledge delighted him darkly.

Zoro spun him around and dragged him back to the bed. Sanji felt his back hit the bed and then Zoro's mouth was on his mouth and his hand was between his legs. He fought back with his body. Grinding up, thrusting his body unashamedly in time to the one above. The movements rough, dirty, obscene, beyond description. Nasty. Filthy. All those words which said that it was too sensuous for it to be right.

The lips above his paused, Zoro looked down into his eyes, "Sanji. You said you wanted it this way, okay? I'm just letting you know that you won't be able to walk for a while. I mean, there's not going to be a special word." Black eyes looked down on him, eyebrows drawn in tense concentration.

Sanji favored him with another lazy look, "That's what I want to hear, but don't disappoint me…Think of all things you want to do to me and then do them without asking me. Take me. Dirty me the fuck _up._ I'll open my mouth or spread my legs whenever _you_ want me to."

He would have said more, he would have continued to fill Zoro's ears with all those delicious desires of total capitulation. Would have continued to drip the honey from his liar's mouth and saturated the man with such beautiful and arousing falsifications. He had entire volumes of such deceitful prose stored within his head like some perverted and malevolent Shakespeare. He would have put Milton to shame.

But Zoro cut him off, seizing him and jerking him roughly down, bringing him to his knees , his legs uncomfortably squashed by the bed.

"Come on. This is what you want, isn't it?" Zoro whispered, his black eyes glittered softly as he looked down at Sanji's upturned and flushed face. Sanji felt the back of his head seized and shoved forward, and he opened his mouth so that the motion would guide the erection inside his mouth.

He nearly gagged and dry heaved as the cock went in too large and too fast and too suddenly. But then he stifled the impulse, reared in the feelings and focused on relaxing his throat and slurping at the hard length. Zoro was grunting and gasping above him, breathing laboriously at each movement of Sanji's mouth.

His head was yanked back, and his body seized and lifted further onto the bed, back flat against the sheets. Sanji, looking down, saw Zoro climb lightly up, cock wet and shiny, eyes running all over his spread body. He spread his legs invitingly, erection unashamedly exposed. "Come on."

Zoro smiled, "Not yet." And from the way he climbed on top of him, Sanji knew what was expected of him. He opened his mouth again and sucked at the heavy sac on top, the angle wrong for the continuation of lathering up Zoro's cock. He moaned, using his mouth to suck and his tongue to tickle. Maybe if he shifted a few centimeters; the angle irritatingly wrong.

It wasn't for Zoro. Sanji shuddered as he felt the hot mouth wrap around his length and suck the head tightly, tongue digging into the slit and running beneath the head. All he could do was lick Zoro's balls and suck desperately at the sac, his hands gripped the thighs above hard enough to leave bruises.

He was almost ready to climax. Sanji could feel the sensations vibrating frantically along his cock and in the very pit of his belly, He cried out something unintelligible, resembling Zoro's name.

In a second Zoro's mouth was off of him and Sanji was face to face with Zoro. "You're not coming for a while Sanji." He whispered and kissed him hard, messy. Not seeming to care whether Sanji enjoyed the kiss or not. He loved it. He could handle this, this impersonal sexual intercourse. The hotter it flared the more he welcomed it, knowing that this was what he was used to.

And before Sanji even grew comfortable with the kiss, Zoro withdrew, sliding off the bed. "Get up."

Sanji did, face flushed and heart thumping, He didn't want to say anything and break the spell. Wordless and impersonal.

He stood there, in front of Zoro, hands loosely at his sides, eyes both submissive and defiant, the arousal matching the man's in front of him. He had to say something.

"I told you this would be fun. I know-"

Zoro's eyes ran all over his body, "Turn around." The lazy motion of his hand was strangely cool.

Sanji did, knees slightly weak with the force of the desire in the other man, but he leaned over the bed, settling his weight on the sheets and spreading his legs so that Zoro could take him. Gripping the besdsheets, his pants quick and light, the smile hidden from view. Loving the exposure.

He heard Zoro squirt something and there was a small sigh of pleasure behind him as Zoro lubricated himself.

And then the hands at his waist held him as Zoro pushed his cock inside. Sanji let out a strangled moan as the entrance impaled him. His hands fisted beside his head and gripped the sheets tightly. And the quick, brutal thrusts nearly made him scream with delight and pain. It hurt and felt overwhelming.

Above him, Zoro withdrew, panting, and slid halfway in, pausing. "You like be taken like this Sanji? Like this?" and the rough directness of his next thrust caused Sanji to moan and nod his head against the sheets, eyes squeezed shut.

"Or do you want it slow?" and Zoro slid in again, achingly slow. His voice was husky, low. "Like this?"

Sanji shook his head, a moan slipped through his lips at the torturous pace. It was choking, that sensation of sex withheld from a lust too brazen and primal for even the merest form of inhibition, "_No_. _Fas-_ter."

Zoro refused, the cock inside him drew in and out slowly. And Sanji thrust his ass back in desperation to get filled and fucked. To get grilled and used to the very last drop of semen in his sac had been sucked out and drunk. Zoro's things slapped the back of his own; and he groaned at the sudden, harsh appeasement.

Zoro sounded breathless and amused, "I'd do that more, but you seemed to like it." The fast, rapid fucks that followed, the heavy hand on the small of his back, the other gripping his ass, the brutality of the sex nearly blinded him and he would have very well lost it again, before his partner, had his own need not been trapped beneath his body, causing discomfort and a dark relish in that very discomfort.

But he sank his teeth into consciousness and fought his orgasm with claws, ripped his sex from his mind and tried to be the perfect mannequin. Sensuous and plastic. Detached and available. The hoarse grunts and heavy breaths being dragged from his throat with every delicate, noiseless thump of ballsack on ass provided the counterpoint to the aroused pants somewhere above him.

His knees hurt.

Sanji struggled up, knowing that the time had come for resistance and feeling more than aroused as Zoro shoved him down again and gave it to him like he wanted it, without mercy or pretense, without mercy, without safety, without grace or good manners. An absolute exploitation of his very sex. He growled and tried to twist away from the hands pinning him down. He was resisting, not because he didn't want to. He resisted, because he liked the suppression.

"I thought you said you were going to spread your legs?" Zoro grunted from behind him and Sanji stilled his movements at once. Pretending to be trapped.

Looking behind him, he smiled again, lips curving in sultry amusement, "Hmmm…I don't remember that."

Short, meaningless struggle in which nothing was changed except the time. Later. Sanji, still bent over and still suffering the plundering of sex and the utter taking of his being. Grunting whenever Zoro settled too heavily on him, gasping and crying out when the other plunged in deep and sent that paralyzing wave of sensation through him; burying his head in his arms and gritting his teeth impotently when Zoro took it into his head to draw fully out and leisurely impale him on something which was heated and hard and the bane of his existence.

Their minds had ceased to exist, converted to nothing more than an extension of their erections, if that. It wasn't just the sex that was hot, it was the room which had turned into hell's antechamber. The hands on his body burned and molded with his own, the sweat steamed and hissed, the bedcovers warm. Skin tingling and blushing. Toes absurdly ice cold and utterly forgotten. The merging of their sexes, the pith of the carnality they had so impiously constructed, was _incinerating_.

Where to even describe what was happening between them, on the bed, in this room which had ceased to exist to two beings so fully submerged and lost and trapped within each other? Where to begin to describe the indescribable? To say _hot _and _hard_ is all very well; but to bring these two entities to life, to show their potent power, to show the manner in which these two things come together and fuck a person to something beyond themselves?

No, he had never been able to put his work into words. It would be like drawing a three dimensional object on a two dimensional surface.

His hips bucking, hands curling tightly, nails biting into the flesh of his hands. Later he would see the miniscule drops of blood, the tattered flesh. But right now, there was a something that they called a _cock_, as if only that hardened piece of flesh which could induce such terrifying emotions, could only be related by that hard, thick word hitting the back of the throat and making one feel slightly dirty, perverted, and ashamed for having said it. It was there, blocking him.

Fighting orgasm, the cock inside and then not inside and then halfway or three-quarters in, was the weapon which aimed to deprive him of what he most jealously hoarded; his much loved privacy, his beloved secrecy.

The way Zoro did everything possible to break him, plummet him beyond redemption.

Slipping, feeling the world crumble away from him; the bed begin to fade, his own monstrous and unrequited pleasure begin to rear its sleek and sated head. Moaning, crying out, shuddering out the names of gods or of a god as if only heavenly will could grant him salvation now. God, oh gods. God, God, God, how it _felt_.

Or maybe sex was dying and he was calling out for some sort of unction because he had done so much ill in this world and what's more he knew it before he passed on; it felt much like dying, and the dying was fine.

Because Sanji felt it. Felt it in everything he called his body, felt that incoming wave which they called o_rgasm, _and _climax, _and _cumming_; but what it was they didn't know for sure and so they made it taboo and restricted it and placed fees on it and placed a price on it and did everything they could to demonstrate their knowledge and fear and envy of whatever it was—

That he was experiencing, the hidden tidal wave, the stickiness where there was hidden white. The sudden stillness of all movement. Somewhere it had happened and sometime he had come and come back but because he couldn't describe it, it had passed with only a blank space to accommodate it and to testify that there had been one and that it was no more.

"Wow," he croaked, every nerve tingling as he hit Earth and the bed felt lovely. Soft and comfortable. "I just died."

Zoro groaned in response, "You and me both." And he hit the bed, "One word—fucking _phenomenal."_

"Shut up…I don't care if I never hear that word again."

~0~

Their position was as before, nearly an hour later. The only difference was that Sanji could feel the marrow in his bones tingling heavily, a product of his own exhaustion and the weight he now carried on his broad, white shoulders. He was passing lines without care, burning bridges behind him without a second thought. He was drawing in this man irrevocably. Unforgiving and merciless, a human tarantula.

Zoro had him tucked into his side, as if trying to by a show of affection, justify their merciless, vicious sex. Sanji smiled, as if Zoro needed to justify anything to him. Why couldn't this man understand that he was his personal whore? That he was everything and anything? Father, brother, friend, whore, lover?

The man was undeniably strange. _Zoro_ was undeniably strange. _Zoro. _Zoro. Zoro. Zoro. The word tickled him.

"The second time around killed me," Zoro grunted in deep rooted satisfaction above him, a hand was back to ruffling his hair absent-mindedly and ghosting over his bare shoulder, "I don't care what you say, that's the last time."

"For tonight." Sanji all but purred, relishing the warm touches on his exposed neck and torso, feeling in them a repressed sense of triumph. His own complete and total recovery was imminent.

"You're impossible. You can't even get up right now," Zoro snorted, and bent and placed his lips softly in his hair, "I can't understand how…"

"What? I like it?" _Simple Zoro…I've grown used to it and also I'm rather amused by it all. I'm not the one who's getting fucked when you force your cock inside of me. It's you who's getting fucked. In more ways than one. _

"No…how you let yourself handle it. I mean…even if we're—" Zoro suddenly looked embarrassed, shy. Looking ready to discuss the deep and fundamental aspects of their non-relationship. But it wasn't the time for that. No, not yet.

Sanji closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

~0~

He awoke as soon as he heard the front door close from across the apartment. His blue eyes snapped open and he was up, sliding out of bed, ignoring the beginning of an ache down there. There was a note on the bedside-

_Sanji-_

_You didn't really have any ready made stuff in the pantries and I didn't want to cook and mess up your kitchen so I'm heading out to get some breakfast. Hope you like bagels. You should stay in bed. Sorry if it hurts. My slacks have your spit all over them, so I took a pair of sweat pants from your closet. Hope you don't mind._

_Zoro _

Blunt and to the fucking point. Sanji snorted laughter before stopping himself suddenly, confused. What the hell was he laughing at?

Perhaps the note. It certainly was worlds apart from the usual. Perhaps just the manner in which it was written. Perhaps because he thought it was funny in his own strange way.

He put the note back and padded back to the bed, still naked. He found what he wanted almost immediately. Zoro's jeans, crumpled next to the bed. Did Zoro really think he sucked him through the thin, black fabric so wantonly without a purpose? If so, then the man was nicely deluded.

Sanji sagged his knees and delicately reached for the slacks, not wanting to stress his lower body just yet, though probably not enough time had yet passed for the serious hurt to begin. Once the soft material was in his grip, he fished his hands through the pockets, looking, fingers searching. Zoro had likely taken his wallet, but there could be still something—

A receipt for a hamburger and fries. A scrap of paper with nothing writ upon it. A ball of lint. Thirteen cents.

Sanji muttered in annoyance and switched pockets. Nothing in there. He tried the back pockets.

A slip of paper. There was a strange sketch on it which seemed meaningless and on the other side, a pen scrawl simply said, 'Call Kizaru. Don't—' and something which looked like 'forget' though it could be 'forge' or 'force', but was most likely, 'forget'.

He was careful not to scrunch the paper up, careful not to leave a sweat print behind or place the pads of his fingers directly on the surface, handling it only with the very tips of his nails. And he memorized the sketch and name quickly; but still that was not enough. Sanji walked quickly to a nearby dresser and slid out a drawer, pulling out a small, thin digital camera and a notebook. In less than a few seconds, everything had been documented. Even the time and place in which Zoro had eaten his hamburger.

Seconds later he was back in bed, as if he had never left it. Everything was back in the pockets and the slacks were back on the floor as though they had never been desecrated. Everything was back to abnormal.

The front door opened again around fifteen minutes later; and Sanji knew it was Zoro from the heavy, patient tread of his shoes on the rugs. And before long, the green head showed itself in his private, impersonal sanctum.

A small packet hit his chest, warm, and he reached up and took it with a smile, "Thanks."

"No problem. You okay?"

"Sure," was his jovial answer and taking out the warm bagel neatly devoured it underneath Zoro's eyes. When he was finished, he glanced up at Zoro questioningly, "You're not eating?"

"I ate on the way here. I was famished," Zoro shrugged and grinned suddenly, a smile which lit up his whole face, "You really take the energy out of a man, you know."

"So I've been told," he smirked; and laid back in the rumpled bedsheets with his arms behind his head, not before he saw Zoro's grin falter and fade. He had stolen it successfully. Add _thief _to _assassin_ and you were in his court, honey.

There was a heavy hesitance in the air before Sanji heard Zoro speak again, voice tempered with the faintest flavor of jealousy, the faintest note of reproach.

"So…is this some kind of one night stand?" Zoro asked from where Sanji could tell he was leaning against the doorway of his room, hands in pockets of sweatpants that didn't belong to him. "Nothing special?"

The guy was not sugar-sweet. The time for romance and fluff had passed, if ever there had been a moment for it. The bait that would draw him in was rough and tough. Zoro was the kind of man who enjoyed the bit for the challenge he drew in it, not for the sweetness of its meat.

He grabbed a pillow and threw it at the other man, not bothering to even look at him, "Baaaastard…how many times do I have to tell you that this is something else? You think I do what I did for you for everyone, eh? Is that how little _you_ think of _me?_"

"No, course not—"

"Then shut up. I'm not leaving you anytime soon. You count on that _marimo_," Sanji cut him off, "You're different. You're cool. I like you—I'll stay."

"I like you too Sanji." So simple and roughly sincere and to the point and objective and everything he wasn't, everything he had used to be. It was like seeing a mirror of himself, slightly warped and much cleaner. Zoro chuckled again and Sanji was slightly disturbed to find that he found it a pleasant sound. "I guess we're _together_ now. Whatever that means."

"You're even wearing my sweatpants."

"Your slobber is all over the crotch of my slacks."

"It's dry by now." That formal, slick incubus inside of him withered a bit and cringed in mortification as Zoro called his salvia, _slobber. _It was a nasty word, it had nothing to do with the precise, formulated creature he fancied himself to be. He did not _slobber_. Never before had anybody told him that; and he had done _much_ with his mouth, his tongue, and his saliva.

Zoro had no idea that these thoughts were clouding his mind, making him uncomfortable. "Maybe, but it still would have felt weird. Anyway, I have to go work. Sorry for leaving like this—"

"You apologize too damn much _Zoro_," he breathed, a little annoyance in his voice which, miraculously, he did not have to fake. He had known for a while now that Zoro needed to go do his job and had been anxious for the departure. He, too, had to work. But the _marimo_ just would not _go. _The _marimo_ just stayed there, hands in pockets, gazing at him as if trying to burn the image of his bare chest and stomach into memory. To etch it forever in his mind.

"I'm sorry," Zoro said, and the smile in his words was oddly endearing, "I—I just…this is the first time…"

"First time fucking? I doubt it," and for some reason the speech that he was suddenly, absurdly listening to had captivated his attention. Again, the freshness of the emotions, the novelty of the sincerity, struck him erratically. Where were the tender, moist lips on his and the dirty nothings whispered into his ear before they left? Zoro was across the room, fully dressed, and telling him that it had been his first time. What? What? _What?_

"No. it's the first time someone's stuck in my head longer than he should be." And the footsteps left, giving away the slight embarrassment the other man was feeling. The sound of the door closing was unimportant, almost anticlimactic.

~0~

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing! But let me just say that all military titles and information are utterly fabrications of my own ignorant mind. I'm going to try to keep the chapters short, 13 pages or so, it goes better with the **_**literary atmosphere**_**. Oh, damn. Shit. For the record, my mind gets really woozy if I work on this story too long. **


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